Chapter 7 - Gregory Vane)
By sunrise, Detective Vega had enough evidence for search warrants, but not enough officers to execute them quietly.
The flash drive connected Gregory to forged documents and surveillance, yet its files did not prove who had created them. Gregory could claim Abigail found the drive somewhere else. Victor could deny knowing either man. Celia’s testimony remained essential.
Alison, Abigail, and Naomi moved to a hotel under names chosen by the police. Darnell went home only after making Alison promise to call if she needed transportation. He wrote his number on the back of a bus transfer for Abigail.
“Buses go both directions,” he told her. “If the place at one end is wrong, you stay on until you find a safe stop.”
Abigail tucked the transfer into her backpack.
Alison did not sleep. She sat beside the hotel window while morning traffic moved through downtown Milwaukee and read the police summary from Michael’s accident until every word felt newly suspicious. Weather conditions poor. Commercial truck lost control. Driver treated for minor injuries. No evidence of impairment. Personal effects recovered from front cabin.
No briefcase was listed.
The truck driver’s name was Leon Baird.
A public search showed that he had died two years after the collision. His widow still lived in West Allis.
Naomi woke and took the phone from Alison’s hand. “Gregory wants you chasing the most painful possibility because it divides your attention.”
“What if it isn’t only a possibility?”
“Then we investigate it after you and Abigail are safe.”
“Michael might have died because of this house.”
“And Gregory is using that idea to make you act before you think. Do not give him what he wants.”
Alison knew Naomi was right. Knowing did not make stillness easier.
At nine, Vega arrived with news. Gregory Shaw’s legal identity was genuine, but the birth certificate used to obtain it belonged to a child who died in infancy. Gregory Vane had disappeared from financial and tax records twelve years earlier, shortly after his father settled the appraisal case. The son had not broken with the family. He had become useful by becoming invisible.
Victor Vane’s company was preparing to announce the Harbor Line, a luxury residential and retail development extending from the river toward Alison’s block. Public plans showed access from the north. Engineering correspondence on the flash drive revealed that the northern access could not support heavy construction. Without the Reed passage, the project would lose financing.
“Your covenant is the hinge,” Vega said. “Victor acquired the surrounding parcels through pressure and fraud. He needs yours before lenders review the final title package tomorrow morning.”
“Then the midnight deadline is real.”
“Yes. Which means he may take greater risks today.”
Vega had sent officers to Celia Moreno’s registered address. They found the apartment empty, the door unlocked, and a pot of coffee still warm. Celia’s car remained in the parking lot. Her phone was turned off.
“They took her?” Alison asked.
“Or she ran. We don’t know.”
The detective placed a photograph on the table. It showed Celia, a woman in her late forties with dark hair and tired eyes, leaving a grocery store two days earlier.
Abigail stared at it. “I know her.”
“From Gregory’s office?”
“No. She was at my school concert.”
Alison remembered a crowded auditorium, folding chairs, and parents holding phones above their heads. “When?”
“The spring concert. She sat behind Gregory. Afterward she gave him an envelope.”
“Did they talk?” Vega asked.
“Gregory said, ‘Not here.’ She looked like she had been crying.”
The flash drive’s payment records showed monthly transfers to C.M. for nearly two years, beginning before Gregory met Alison. Celia was not recruited for this single forgery. She had been trapped in a longer operation.
Vega’s phone rang. She listened, wrote an address, and stood.
“Celia just called the district desk from a convenience store. She asked for Alison by name.”
“How did she know I was working with you?”
“She said Thomas Reed told her to call you if Victor ever used a child.”
They arranged a meeting at a Catholic church on the south side. Officers entered first and searched every room. Alison waited in an unmarked car with Vega while Naomi stayed at the hotel with Abigail.
Celia arrived through the side entrance wearing a borrowed coat. She carried no purse. A bruise darkened one wrist.
Inside the empty chapel, she refused to sit.
“Victor has people in the police department,” she said. “I don’t know which ones.”
Vega did not react. “Then tell me only what is necessary.”
Celia looked at Alison. “Your father tried to help me. I was too afraid.”
“Did you notarize the power of attorney?”
“Gregory brought a woman wearing a red wig. She used your passport and practiced your signature. I knew she wasn’t you.” Celia’s voice cracked. “Victor owns the mortgage on my sister’s restaurant through another company. He said he would close it and report her son to immigration. I stamped the page.”
“And the purchase agreement?” Naomi had joined by secure audio from the hotel.
“They prepared three versions. One shows a voluntary sale. One uses the power of attorney. The third transfers the access covenant separately for one dollar. They’ll record whichever version the title officer accepts first.”
“Where are the originals?” Vega asked.
“At the Kestrel Brewery. Victor uses the old accounting building. There’s a closing room on the ground floor and a server upstairs.”
Three round windows.
Celia took a small key card from her shoe. “This opens the side door until midnight. I copied it when Gregory left me alone.”
Vega accepted it. “Will you give a sworn statement?”
“If you protect my sister.”
“We will.”
Celia finally sat. “There’s something else. Gregory does not need Alison’s real signature to record the deed. They already have the forgery.”
“Then why is he demanding I sign?” Alison asked.
Celia’s eyes moved to her face.
“Because the bank financing Harbor Line hired an independent lawyer. She knew your father. She refused every electronic copy and demanded to see you sign in person.”
“Who is the lawyer?”
“Naomi Price.”
The secure audio line went silent.
May you like
Then a man’s voice spoke from Naomi’s side of the connection.
“Thank you, Celia,” Gregory said. “That saves us a great deal of time.”
